


Soli Deo Gloria

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Advent, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Advent drabbles (proper summary TBD).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Advent is a time of waiting, preparation, a solemnity as great as Lent. James frowns at the shoppers with their heavy bags, at the shops full of music and festive lights, at the world that seemingly has forgotten how to wait, prepare, be ready. 

He frowns at Lewis, who is humming a carol, who is standing close, too warm - James feels the heat from his body. 

James is not sure if he is ready for this. His skin feels tight, stretched across his bones, fragile.

The streetlight changes - Lewis puts an arm around his shoulder - they cross the street together.


	2. Walking Together

Cambridge was by no means a desolate place. Come Advent, James was used to going out and away from the hum and thrum of college life – to the fens, to the broads, to the lonely coast.

Oxford is similarly vibrant, its dreaming spires lucent against the December sky. Here, too, James walks out into the countryside, traces paths along the river, takes the untrodden ways. 

The silence is broken by the squelch of wet leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. When they cross the river and turn at last towards home, James looks up and smiles at Lewis.


	3. A Pause

Over the years, there have been other pilgrimages and other walks. None of them have matched this.

None of them have included a halfway stop for a pint at the pub, complete with the drowning, drugging comfort of Lewis's voice. It is a soft rumble that seeps through James's skin and sinks into his bones. 

The soft distant sound of the river, the hum of other conversations, the whisper of the world going its way – all overlaid by Lewis. James lets the words wash over and through him. 

He closes his eyes and sits in the winter sunlight – resting, waiting.


	4. A Lingering Look

Lewis sometimes looks at James as though he were a difficult anagram, a cryptic crossword clue, a cipher. 

Day after day, they seem to move close and closer – now they sit on the same bench, shoulders bumping, and it is nothing out of the ordinary.

(It is extraordinary, the way it makes James's blood sing.)

The day is short and something like the tattered skeleton of a fallen leaf, changed but recognizable, still parsed out in even hours. The light fades fast and faster. 

The year is winding to its shortest point, waiting for the turn and return, the epiphany.


	5. An Invitation

"Spend Christmas with me," Lewis says, "if you want." The set of his shoulders, the loose circle of his fingers around his glass, the way he isn't looking at James, all say _if you want,_ and _nothing you don't want._

James looks down at his own glass, at the ring of foam that remains. A thick kelpy emotion wells up in his throat – like beach-stranded seaweed, sunlit and glistening with salt. 

Lewis is warm next to him, close enough to touch. James reaches out and puts a hand on his. Their fingers curl snail-like around his glass, an infinite loop.


	6. Invitation Accepted

Lewis's hand is warm to the touch. James feels his fingers tightening, clutching, and makes the effort to let go – tries to make it seem effortless, easy. 

"I'd like that," he says. James feels like he is stripped bare, ribs and organs visible to all. Lewis can see straight into him. (Strangely, he doesn't mind.)

Advent and anticipation and hope, the warmth of a touch, the curve of the glass beneath their fingers, the prospect of a Christmas spent together – this, James thinks, is what he and Lewis have been moving toward, the culmination of their slow and careful steps.


	7. Dinner Together

James feels a frisson of awareness when he looks at Lewis – sat at a too-small cafe table, mug cradled in his hands, or with stacks of paperwork at his desk, or kicking his heels while they wait for a takeaway. 

(They will spend Christmas together – James is not entirely sure what that means, but he thinks that it will somehow wash away the grey of lonely years.)

Lewis looks up from his plate, catches James's gaze, and smiles at him. 

The smile makes him feel like sea glass, worn and wave-tossed, ready for dawn and the turn of the tides.


	8. Saying Goodnight

The night is as dark as blood-red wine thick and legless in a crystal glass. Lewis stands under a streetlight, haloed and casting a long shadow. 

"Well," he says, shifting from one foot to another, "good night, then."

Winter's cold has finally come – James blows on his hands before putting them in his pockets. (He wonders if he should invite Lewis in for coffee.)

Frost crystals glisten on the lamppost. When James exhales, he can see the cloud of his breath hanging in the air, rising, dissipating. He lingers, cherishes the moment spent in Lewis's company.

"Good night," he says.


	9. Cigarette Break

There is pressure on James's chest like the wet congestion of a cold, all mucus and no mercy, making it hard to breathe. 

Lewis stands next to him, slouched against the wall while James smokes. James doesn't know what to say, never knows how to end an awkward silence. 

He fumbles in his head for a quote – Yeats, Eliot, the Bard – nothing fits the moment. (No words match the way that Lewis looks at him.)

In the silence, in the winter-cold, James scuffs out his cigarette and brushes his freed hand against Lewis's fingers. He hopes no words are needed.


	10. At Work

James has known the wide-open space of the cloisters – the only way to look is up, up, up, like bubbles rising in champagne. He has known the close musty smell of the confessional, the shadows and the silence and the wooden-silken rattle of the rosary.

This office is closed-in, smells of stale coffee, has the staid angular lines of desks and window blinds. It also has the smooth sloping lines of Lewis's shoulders, the curve of his backbone, the pecking sound of his fingers on the keyboard. 

James has known other spaces, holier ones and higher, but none like this.


	11. Chapter 11

Lewis looks up from his work. "Another cigarette break?"

James considers, saves his work, and rises. "I could use one, yes."

He follows Lewis's lead. That, James thinks, could be a metaphor, but it feels like a strong sure anchor, a certain thing in an uncertain world. 

Dusk is falling, darkening the cloudy sky. They stand in the circle of light cast by a streetlight. 

Lewis looks like he has something to say, starts and stops, shoves his hands in his pockets. "You'll … let me know if there are any Christmas traditions you–"

James shakes his head. "Just midnight mass."


	12. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this drabble, my wicked coworkers talked me into going out last night and I've been recovering ever since, lol. :)

Lewis's sigh is as soft as the beat of a bird's wings. He's standing close enough that James could touch him.

"I've imagined," he says, and stops, looks at James as if uncertain.

Holiday traditions and hopes, heartfelt dreams – James has counted his dreams in cups of coffee drunk with this man. 

It is not hard, all things considered, to be the one who takes the first step, builds the first bridge. 

James says, "I've imagined mornings together – you rustling an old-fashioned newspaper, I'll read the paper on my tablet. Sunlight coming in the windows, we're drinking orange juice, you-"


	13. Further Discussion

"You let me share the little things with you," Lewis says, and he's touching James now, his hand pressed to the back of James's. They're both cold, standing outside like this, but James couldn't move if he wanted to.

"Homely traditions, we share those," Lewis says. "That's what I imagine – the two of us, spending Christmas together."

Nothing more is said – but James turns his hand palm up, clasping Robbie's in return, warming their fingers together. 

He will look forward to Christmas this year, and he tells Lewis so. His breath catches in his throat at the way Lewis smiles.


	14. Chapter 14

It has all the crisp intoxication of chilled white wine, all the sparkle of tonic water, all the comfort of a favourite ale. 

It is like the perfect cup of tea, the way that Lewis smiles at James, the two of them standing close with their fingers interlaced. 

"You go straight to my head, you know," James tells Lewis. He feels like a giddy, foolish thing, careless with his metaphors. He hardly knows what he's saying.

"Good," Lewis says, and he kisses the back of James's fingers - a fleeting and short-lived kiss, here-and-gone, but quite enough to make James blush.


	15. Musings

Ontogeny does not recapitulate phylogeny – they are not what they once were, James and Lewis. They are more than their beginnings.

Speaking glances and the way that James follows Lewis, the relationship built up like sandstone bricks in sun-warmed college walls, this is what they have become, how they have grown together. 

(James thinks perhaps they have been building walls that make a space just for the two of them.)

A glance, or a brush of hands, says enough. Someday – perhaps some day soon – a kiss will say even more. The sum is made from both parts of the whole.


	16. The Advent Calendar

Some treats are precious, to be hoarded and cherished: the last cigarette of the day, the first cup of coffee, the careful perforated opening of each window in his Advent calendar.

The first year, Lewis scoffed at James's coloured calendar – pictures, but no sweets. "What's the point in that?" he'd said.

"It's a way of marking time," James had said. 

This year, Lewis gave him a calendar, a set of images rendered in stained glass, intricate and fragile. 

(It's a way of counting blessings, James would say today, looking over the edge of the calendar, watching Lewis at his desk.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James's Advent calendar: http://www.cenacle.co.uk/products.asp?recnumber=1140#.VJCkfofodXc


	17. Menu Planning

Lewis is making a shopping list, consulting with James about the menu, selecting wine. They sit together on his sofa, pressed side to side.

James slips off his shoes, curls his toes in the carpet, turns his head and finds Lewis watching him.

James sighs and lets his head slide down to rest on Lewis's shoulder. He lets it all roll over him, the soft burr of Lewis's voice as he discusses Brussels sprouts and bread sauce. 

There are endless lists of decisions and revisions – days ticked off one by one, Christmas drawing nearer. This closeness is enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be traveling during the next few days, and not sure of my ability to acquire internet and post! I'll keep writing and will post when I can.


End file.
